


Want

by Dragontrill



Series: Broken [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky is horny, Cuddling gone wrong, M/M, marked non-con for someone who cannot give consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 13:56:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2194269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragontrill/pseuds/Dragontrill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky likes to cuddle with Steve. It makes him feel safe. One night, however, something goes wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Want

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Want](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3157967) by [ogawaryoko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ogawaryoko/pseuds/ogawaryoko)



> This is a writing experiment for me. I like to play with concepts and fanfiction is a good venue for that (just grab your ready made characters and go)
> 
> This might be triggering for some people. If you think it might be, check the end notes. Spoilers galore down there.

Sometimes, he couldn't sleep.

Usually it was because of nightmares, things he couldn't quite remember when he woke but which made him tremble in fear or even cry. Or hate himself without understanding the reason. 

Other times, it was because the shadows in his room seemed to be hiding enemies and he was too tense to sleep, watching for the men in combat gear or white coats to come and take him back... somewhere.

Tonight, he was just restless and lonely. He didn't want to be in his room all by himself and really, he saw no reason why he had to be. So finally he tossed the covers back, got to his feet, and padded barefoot across the room to the door, shadows dappling over his bare skin from the city light coming through the window. It was never entirely dark in New York.

Most of the time he understood that this was New York, not that it really mattered.

He padded out his door and into the living room and immediately a quiet, cultured voice sounded over his head. "Do you require any assistance, Master Barnes?" Jarvis asked.

Bucky looked up and then back down, not saying anything. Jarvis would tell someone if he did anything worrisome, he knew that. Jarvis was always watching. Sometimes he was able to help with the nightmares and the fear of who was hiding in his room and hunting him, but Jarvis was just a voice. 

"The Captain is asleep," Jarvis cautioned as Bucky pushed open the door to the next bedroom. Didn't matter. Bucky padded across the hardwood floor and climbed up onto the large bed.

Steve woke immediately, sitting up. "Bucky?"

Bucky crawled towards him and huffed out a breath as he saw Steve was still sitting up, looking at him with patient eyes. "Are you alright, Buck? Did you have another nightmare?"

He didn't want Steve to be sitting up, so Bucky grabbed him around the throat and shoved him back against the pillow.

"Sir!" Jarvis said. "Do you require assistance?"

Bucky nestled against Steve's side, squirming under the covers and laying his head against the bigger man's shoulder with a sigh. Steve's arms went around him.

"It's alright, Jarvis," Steve said. "He didn't hurt me."

"As you say, Sir."

Steve was warm, his chest moving gently underneath Bucky's cheek. He let go of his neck and gripped his other shoulder instead, cuddling closer so that he was pressed against Steve along the length of their bodies. Like him, Steve was only wearing a pair of boxer shorts and his skin felt good. 

Steve turned his head and pressed his lips against Bucky's hair. "Just wanted to cuddle, huh, Buck?"

Bucky hummed and pressed his face closer against Steve's neck. He felt warm everywhere, safe, Steve's muscles hard and his lines angular; actually, they grew a bit uncomfortable the longer Bucky lay there. After a few minutes, he started squirming again and ended up lying directly on top of Steve, his head turned so that his breath puffed against Steve's cheek.

"Comfortable?" Steve asked and there was a note of amusement in his voice. He stroked his hand up and down Bucky's spine a few times, though, which was good. When he stopped, Bucky arched his back up and Steve did it again. "Sometimes I think you're just like a cat," he added with a yawn that expanded his entire chest and lifted Bucky with it. When he came down, he wrapped his arms around him.

"Go to sleep, Bucky," he said and Bucky did. 

Bucky's dreams were vague, mostly colour and sound, laughter and the smell of salt water, of ointment and boiled cabbage. There was something familiar about them, comforting, as if he knew them, or had at some point in his life. 

The memories would come or they wouldn't, he'd come to understand that. Sometimes, something he saw, heard, touched, or even smelled would bring them back. Just flashes and not always good or even in context, but they did come and there were enough bad memories that he didn't go searching for them. The rest of the time, he was just in the moment, without past or future, merely content with the occasional beam of light that pierced through the fog forever clouding his brain. He'd lost something, he knew that, but Steve said he was hurt, that he'd been injured very badly, but he was still him, still Bucky. As long as he was Bucky and no one was trying to hurt him, he didn't concern himself with everything else he wasn't.

Being around Steve brought back the most memories, the most gaps in the fog, and for the most part, they were good ones. Bucky drifted back to wakefulness and remembered that the smells from his dream were from the apartment they'd shared when they were young men in Brooklyn, when Bucky worked on the docks and came home bringing the stench of sea water to join that of the cabbage Steve cooked for supper. Tiny, sickly little Steve.

Steve wasn't tiny or sickly now, but he smelled the same. Bucky pressed his nose against Steve's neck and inhaled deeply, inhaling the musk that was uniquely him, mixed now with Bucky's own. He remembered laughter and Steve hunched over his sketchbook, drawing with a stub of a pencil he could never get sharp while Bucky polished his shoes, the rich scent of the polish mixing with the lemon they used to clean and the musty smell of Steve's sketchbook, bought at a corner store and only costing a penny due to water damage.

Bucky grunted, half in dream and half in memory. He felt very warm, Steve's breath tickling the long hair hanging over Bucky's closed eyes and his arms strong around his back. The blanket had long since been kicked off the foot of the bed and his body was burning underneath Bucky's. Hot. Slick. Like sickly Steve but not because the Bucky in those memories lived in a constant, low grade fear that Steve would become ill, that he would die if he tried too much. So Bucky fought his fights for him whenever he could, carried his burdens when he was allowed, and never put a hand on him the way he would have liked to, no matter how his groin tightened when he smelled that unique scent that was so wholly Steve.

It was still Steve, no matter the years past, how he'd changed, or how much of the man who'd once been Bucky Barnes was trimmed away. His mind was fractured and scarred, but his body was healthy and adult and had always known what it wanted, even when the mind said no. Especially when the mind was too broken to understand no.

Bucky's hips rolled instinctively, his hardened length rubbing against Steve's heat. That felt good, so he did it again and kept doing it, because every roll of his hips felt increasingly better until the joy of it burned throughout all of him.

Steve woke with a gasp, his hips shifting underneath Bucky. That brought more pleasure and he pushed his hips against him more quickly, panting even as Steve's gasp turned into a groan.

"Bucky, you shouldn't," he said, even as his legs fell open to either side of Bucky's hips. Steve's hands gripped his shoulders, but he didn't throw him off. He trembled underneath him, his breath laboured and every muscle tight.

"Sir?" Jarvis asked. "Yours and Master Barnes' vitals have increased a great deal. Is there a problem?"

"No," Steve gasped and Bucky moved his hips faster, face pressed against his neck while he chased his pleasure. It felt good, so very, impossibly good and he felt like he was on the edge of something wonderful.

"Should I call for Mister Wilson?" Jarvis asked.

"Don't call... Jarvis... everything's fine!" Steve's voice went high-pitched on the last word and his hips bucked up, his back arching like a bridge underneath Bucky as hot liquid stained the front of his boxers, warm enough that Bucky felt it even through the fabric of his own, and it burned like he'd been touched by something electric. He wailed out a wordless cry and went stiff, pleasure pulsing out of him and onto Steve. It took an endless moment where his vision faded to white and every sort of thought stopped, and then he collapsed against Steve, suddenly exhausted and still feeling the after affects of pleasure pulse through his muscles. Steve was gasping for breath underneath him, his arms shaking where they were wrapped around him.

"Bucky," he gasped, so quiet Bucky barely heard him. He was sweaty and sticky and almost too warm now, but Bucky felt too sluggish to move. 

"Sir, as per my directives, I've contacted Mister Wilson. He asked me to request you meet him immediately in the outside hall."

"Shit," Steve muttered. He went to roll Bucky over and off of him and Bucky made a sound of protest, not wanting him to go. He wanted to sleep now, with Steve's arms around him. "Bucky, I have to. Be good."

Grudgingly, Bucky let him push him off and then he rolled back into the warm spot Steve left as the man stood up, grabbing his robe and putting it on as he left the room. His shoulders were hunched and he walked like a man expecting a beating, which made no sense. He must have seen it wrong.

Bucky closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: non-consensual sex in that Bucky starts rutting against Steve without getting Steve's consent first. Steve lets him, though he really shouldn't.
> 
> I wrote this to play with the concept of consent. I'm huge on the idea of consent but hey, that's what writing's for. My version of Bucky is not able to give consent because his TBI has made him really unaware of what's going on around him most of the time. Mentally, he's a little kid. Physically, he's an adult man with urges. This is him following up on those urges with no way to understand how wrong it is. He can't give consent. He didn't ask Steve for consent. Steve should have said no. Bucky wouldn't have understood a no even if he had. It's a mess.


End file.
